Thorin's Women
by kkolmakov
Summary: The women in the life of the King Under the Mountain. So many and so different. One per chapter. Any but Wren *No Infringement Intended* Feel free to ask questions and send prompts!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you, oh glorious ****Dopamine07****, for this idea! You are a genius! Once you asked about another woman being interested in our Grumpy and coming at him, this fic exploded in my head :D I had four chapters in my head immediately, and here is the first one :D One woman per chapter! Some more might happen :)**

**A/N#2: For time reference for this chapter use "Thorin's Morning After", somewhere between Chapter 7 and 8.**

"My King?" She has a melodic voice, and the smell of her perfume hits your nose. You turn around and survey her. An elegant opulent attire, apparently according to the latest fashion, all this golden embroidery on the top, heavy copper strands in braids around her head. Her cheeks are flushed, from boldness of approaching you no doubt, but also probably from all the wine she was sipping through dinner.

"Lady Irsa," you nod and try to walk around her, but she makes a step in front of you, and you have to halt. She exhales sharply and makes a step ahead, his small hand lying on your chest. You frown, such a strange liberty from such a proper noble lady. She straightens up and looks directly into your eyes. She is definitely more daring from the wine but the determination and certainty seem to be coming from the heart.

"My King, I will be direct," she has dignified air around her, features noble, proud lines of thick dark brows, strong line of her mouth, "Everyone says you are not seeking amity or marriage," your brows jump up, "but I decided to make my desire for you known." You have no words. Your jaw might be slacking. Such boldness!

"You knew my father, you know my family. I possess all virtues required from the Queen, and I will be a good wife for you." Her hand is still on your chest. Her face is calm and proud, but you notice her taking short shallow breaths in. It makes you feel a little bit less of a fool. You are so flabbergasted that you still have not said a word.

"There are rumours, my King..." She wrinkles her prominent nose to show that she condemns gossip, "And you have never shown any inclination to enter a marriage. So, I decided to be blunt. While others might hope for a change in your attitude, I think you need encouragement to consider the possibilities in front of you. But firstly, is there another?"

You swallow with difficulty. Your mind is suddenly flooded with the images of another hand on your chest, small and slender, and another copper mane, in a demure braid going around the back of the head, small stubborn runaways curls on her delicate neck, and then your memory goes on a full frontal assault on your senses, and you remember the shoulders, the breasts, the taste of the skin and the soft little moans.

"There is not another who wants to be my Queen, Lady Irsa," your voice is thick, and she lifts her eyes at you, previously having lowered them. Even for such a self-assured and sought-after woman, such speech was not easy to make. You see light of hope in her eyes and decide to be kind. "Neither am I looking for one. But I thank you for your honesty and I would like you to know I am flattered."

And then the poised facade wavers, and some dangerous fire lights up in her eyes. "My King, you have no doubt spent your life caring for your people and ensuring its prosperity and peace," if she is trying to flatter you, she is succeeding, "And perhaps you have not even considered it, but a man cannot be alone all his life. You are an able-bodied and robust man, you will enjoy marriage and will soon father heirs for the throne of Durin." Her cheeks are furiously burning but she tries to keep her chin proudly lifted and her shoulders square.

You take a moment to ensure that you understand her right. Judging by the shaking hands and blush spreading down her cleavage, you do. You know your mind and your answer, but as a mental exercise you decide to imagine the prospect she is offering. Wedding a daughter of an old respected Dwarven family, bedding her, conceiving healthy strong sons, being the King your people desires and would be proud of…

The temptation does not come. You look into her dark brown eyes, and all your can see are strange ember irises, slanted eyes, long lashes and freckles peppering a narrow turn-up nose, delicate collar bones and a frail slender body, full red mouth, perpetually turned up corners of strange curved lips, surprisingly strong small hands, and the overpowering fire burning in the eyes of the slight sarcastic healer from Dale.

You sigh and bow to the Dwarven maiden standing in front of you. "Forgive me, Lady Irsa, but my answer is no. As honoured as I am with your proposal..." That seems to push her patience to the limit, and she makes a scornful noise. Your brows hike up. Is she forgetting that you are the King? Her face is exasperated, and she lifts her hand haltering you. "Do not continue, my King. Let us not make it more awkward for either of us." She turns on her heels and starts walking away. You think you hear words "stuffy" and "bore" among her mumbling, and you chuckle.

The voice of the healer from Dale sounds in your head, _Cantankerous, conceited, self-assured Dwarf! _If only she knew, perhaps she would be more docile and obedient. You have just been propositioned and offered abundant marital carnal pleasures. And then you shake your head and will your thought to return to state matters. There is no sense to linger on the incident. There are sixty two days left till the Autumnal Equinox.


	2. Chapter 2

Thorin swirls the sword in his hand and lunges ahead. Dwalin is ready for him, he ducks, and the older prince of Erebor receives a humiliating smack of the training sword on his backside. Thorin growls and thrust his wooden sword aiming for the larger Dwarf's shoulder. The move is predictable, and Dwalin pushes his body following his initial trajectory, and Thorin flies by and slams into a wall. He heavily leans on it and winces as if in pain. Dwalin moves to him in concern, only to be cut down under his knees and flop on the ground on his back, in a muddy puddle. Thorin is laughing and his frolics are joined by Frerin, who is sitting on the bench by the wall. Dwalin is swearing under his breath.

"That doesn't count," he is grumbling. "Why not? You are on your back," Thorin's white teeth are gleaming. "You cheated." "I won," Thorin walks to the bench and picks up a mug of water. He drinks greedily and gives Frerin a mischievous side glance. All three of them settle on the bench and stretch their legs. Frerin's face is suddenly dreamy.

"I saw Alda today again, she was visiting Dis." Dwalin groans but Thorin looks interested. "What was she doing?" His velvet voice is soft, he is looking at his younger brother with affection. Dwalin punches his shoulder, "Don't encourage the lad. Nothing will come out of this." "What do you mean, nothing will come out of it?" Frerin's voice rings, "I am almost of battle age, I can talk to Father about her!" "Is your noggin hollow? Such lass wouldn't be interested in you!" Thorin painfully nudges him with his elbow. "And who would she be interested in? I am a prince!" Dwalin screws his eyes at Thorin, but the latter slightly shakes his head.

Frerin is looking at both of them. "Do you know something I don't?" Thorin smirks, "We know a lot of what you don't." Frerin jumps on his feet. "Only because you are older doesn't mean you are smarter." He turns around and stomps away. Dwalin shakes his head, "Aye, it only means that such foxy lass like Alda would be more interested in you." Thorin sighs and rubs his face with his hands.

"She caught me again in the passage the other day. I specifically chose a little-known one, and there she is! Honestly, she is a better scout than Father's guards." Dwalin barks a laugh. "Tell the lad what she is like. His moaning and lamenting is annoying like fleas in your cloak!" Thorin leans back on the bench and closes his eyes. "It'll pass. No need to tell him that not all women have pure heart and noble intentions. He will meet his One and will settle. If he wants to fawn over Alda's voluptuous curves, let him be young for longer."

Dwalin is looking at him stunned. "Voluptuous curves?" "His words, not mine. Although the forms are indeed something." Both Dwarves smirk. Thorin ponders it for a moment, "But obviously the dome is empty," he taps his finger onto his temple, "Does she really think Father would allow her to become a future Queen of Erebor?"

"Well, if you were determined she was the one you wanted..." They both consider the idea and then burst into booming laughter. After a few moments of frolics, Thorin wipes tears from his eyes. "Even to think of it..." He shakes his head, "Alda on the throne of Erebor, with her battering lashes and saucy winks." "You are thinking of the wrong part of marriage," Dwalin gives his an impish grin, "Alda mothering your sons, and everything that precedes it..." He cocks his brow, and Thorin gives him a condescending smirk. "I am the heir to the throne of Durin, mothering my heirs is a job for a daughter of an old and noble family. Not for some skint from Ered Luin."

Dwalin shakes his head and then slams his giant palm into his shoulder. "We'll see, you'd be surprised. Once Mahal leads you, what are you to do if she is not of noble blood? Just watch, some voluptuous curves will capture you, and you are a goner!" Thorin puffs air scornfully, "That's a pile of troll's dang! Who cares what she looks like? Her fathers is what matters, the family, the blood, my heirs. Sighs and busses are no concern of mine." He gets up and swirls the sword in his hand again, "Another round and then to axes?"


End file.
